The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse: Books 1-3 (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Box Sets)

by Nic Saint

  He sighed, once again wondering if this was really such a good idea. After all, the woman might bridle at the sight of him. Not only had he accused her of being a crook, he’d actually caused her physical pain by throwing that can of beans.

  He could argue that he hadn’t known at the time that not she was the crook, but the man she was holding at gunpoint. It might be considered a feeble excuse. Everyone else seemed to know who she was, even the young policewoman taking his fingerprints. She’d smirked when Officer Scattering told her Rick actually thought Felicity Bell was a deli robber. Turned out she was quite the local celebrity. She even had a baking column in the Happy Bays Gazette, where she was known as Flour Girl.

  But how could he possibly have known? He had, after all, only arrived in town two days ago, after a very long, self-imposed exile.

  As a hard-nosed reporter, he was used to covering crime, not thwarting it, and when the opportunity had finally arisen, he’d done what seemed right.

  Good thing Suggs Potter had vouched for him, and Officer Virgil had been obliged to let him walk after giving him a stern warning not to assault any more of Happy Bays’s citizenry. Well, it wasn’t as if he made a habit of attacking the locals. In fact the only local he’d butchered in cold blood was the lone mosquito that had kept him up half the night.

  When Virgil had advised him to make amends with Felicity, whom he seemed to consider something of a personal friend, he’d said he’d think about it. On his way out, he’d been approached by Mabel Stokely, who’d slipped him Felicity’s address. The matronly secretary had encouraged him to make a clean breast of it. “You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Dawson,” she said. “You just go on over there and apologize. I’m sure she’ll have a good laugh, and so will Alice. They’re two of the sweetest young ladies you could ever hope to meet.”

  He figured she was probably right, and had set foot for Stanwyck Street.

  He was fortunate to find that the woman who bade him entry wasn’t Flour Girl herself but the Alice Whitehouse Mabel had mentioned.

  “Hi. My name is Rick Dawson and I’m here to see Felicity Bell. I, um…I had a bit of a run-in with her at the deli this afternoon? I want to apologize for my appalling behavior.”

  Alice, a springy blond woman, listened to his story and quickly agreed to take him to meet her friend. Granted, she had a twinkle in her eye as she stepped aside to let him pass through the door, but he dismissed this as merely a sign of the sweet, good-natured soul Mabel had assured him she was.

  And then the horror had started. First the eggs. He should have been warned that something like this might happen, but he’d just opened his mouth to introduce himself when the throwing started. About a hundred eggs had hit him straight in the face. And he’d just removed enough of the sticky substance to be able to restore his vision, when he caught sight of a gigantic meat cleaver in Flour Girl’s hand. Oh, Christ. This was worse than Iraq.

  “One more step and you’re a dead man,” Felicity told him matter-of-factly.

  He held up a hand in defense, though truth be told he was quite certain that nothing could protect him now.

  “Who let you in?” she demanded.

  “I did,” Alice piped up with a giggle. “Fee, it’s all right. He’s a reporter. It’s all one big misunderstanding.”

  This seemed to give the egg thrower pause, and he quickly interjected, “She’s right. My name is Rick Dawson and I’m a reporter with the New York Chronicle.”

  Felicity narrowed her eyes. The news seemed to do little to appease her. “Then why were you holding up Rafi’s Deli?”

  “But I wasn’t!” he cried, getting a little worked up. It didn’t do, he felt, to be accused of being a gangster after all the time he’d spent writing stories about them. Almost like Woodward and Bernstein being accused of going into politics. “I was simply there to buy some groceries when I heard gunfire. When I went to investigate I saw you wielding a gun and pumping bullets into the ceiling. What was I supposed to think?!”

  “You were supposed to think I had just apprehended a dangerous criminal and wasn’t ready to be attacked in the rear!”

  He held up both hands now, in a gesture of peace. “Look, I made a mistake, all right? An honest mistake. I mistook you for a criminal and I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

  She wiggled the meat cleaver, lips pursed, and seemed to consider both his explanation and apology.

  “For Christ’s sakes, Fee, the man is a reporter! You know, like a professional writer of articles?” She enunciated these words, as if they held a certain meaning, and he was glad to see that they seemed to have a soothing effect on her roommate.

  “A reporter huh? What did you say your name was?”

  “Rick Dawson.”

  She frowned. “Dawson…I think I’ve seen your byline. Didn’t you write that article on stimulated self-serum skin therapy?”

  “I…yes! Yes, I did!” Though he’d never even heard of whatever it was she was talking about, mentioning the fact seemed injudicious.

  She nodded, placing her weapon on the counter. “I like your writing.”

  “Thanks,” he said, nervously following her every gesture. It seemed as if the greatest danger was averted, but from the brief acquaintance he’d had with this woman he knew her to possess a volcanic temper that could be unleashed at the drop of a hat. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? If I’d known you were—”

  She waved her hand. “Water under the bridge. Let’s forget the whole thing.”

  He expelled a long breath. “Great. That’s…great.”

  She held up a finger. “On one condition.”

  “Huh?”

  “You have to teach me how to write.”

  He stared at her dumbly. “Write?”

  She laughed, and for the first time he noticed her cheeks dimpled when she did so. “I don’t mean ABC. I mean teach me how to write an article.”

  “Oh.” He blinked. “I think I can do that.”

  “Wonderful. Now take a seat and shut up. I have a cake to bake.”

  And with these mysterious words, she gestured to her friend. Alice seemed to understand the unspoken command, for she started fiddling with a camera placed on a tripod. Only now did he notice that the kitchen counter held more items than just eggs and meat cleavers, and with a frown he watched Felicity magically spirit an enchanting smile onto her face, gaze straight into the camera, and launch into an explanation on something related to food.

  His face still dripping with egg yolk, he found himself strangely drawn to the mysterious Flour Girl. Only now did he notice she was quite pretty, and when she smiled there was something thoroughly engaging about her. Her liquid brown eyes flashed, her red hair flickered, and he blinked as he took in her curvy frame.

  God, he thought as he licked some egg from his face, she’s quite gorgeous.

  Chapter 9

  Felicity stared at the man. He seemed innocuous enough now that he wasn’t pelting her with canned beans. She had to admit she’d been a little rash to fire off those eggs but what else did he expect? Here she thought he was safely locked up in the Happy Bays slammer and then he suddenly showed up in her own home!

  “Is there, um, a place I could, ah, freshen up?” he asked.

  “Sure thing,” Alice replied and showed him to their small but cozy bathroom. Once returned, she seemed pensive. “Do you think he likes cake?”

  “Mh?”

  “Do you think Rick likes cake?”

  “I’m sure that man likes anything you throw at him,” she replied darkly.

  Alice fiddled with the camera. “It’s just that…” She leaned in and scooped up the cake bowl, then dipped in her finger and started meticulously cleaning out the batter. “…strawberry shortcake happens to be my favorite, and Mr. Hot Reporter Guy just told me he’s starving.”

  “He doesn’t look like a cake eater to me.”

  “He’s just been through a terrible ordeal. Falsely arrested, thrown in prison…”

  �
��He’s got no one to blame but himself,” Felicity said decidedly as she buttered the baking tray. “Serves him right for jumping to conclusions and treating me like a common criminal.”

  Alice eyed her with an appreciative sparkle in her eye. “You always did have a way with men.”

  Felicity frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t have a ‘way with men.’ I don’t even know any men—in the biblical sense, that is.”

  “Don’t deny it,” Alice chuckled. “You have this forceful attitude when it comes to men. Like a lion tamer, or that girl from The Hunger Games. I think you would fit right into that story. Katniss Whatshername could learn a thing or two from you. You would have President Snow heel and simper the moment you stepped onto that platform and started wielding your bow and arrow.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felicity grumbled as she carefully pressed the dough into the pan and placed it on the tray. “The last time I dated a guy was ages ago. My life has been so devoid of men I’m starting to think the species died out.”

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” her friend asked cheekily.

  “I would not. I think men are…useful. In a way.”

  Alice raised an eyebrow. “Useful for what?”

  “Well…it is a known fact that men possess a crude physical skill which comes in handy from time to time. For certain tasks, that is.”

  “Like slaying mammoths and chopping wood? We’ve come a long way since the Stone Age, you know. Men do have other qualities.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Felicity said, though for the life of her she couldn’t think of a single thing men could do that women couldn’t do a lot better. “It’s just that…” She sighed. “Well, you know how I feel about relationships. I suck at them. Always have, always will. So in a sense I think it’s simply better—easier, at least—to simply ignore the existence of the male species.”

  “No sex?”

  “No sex,” she said decidedly. “Sex only complicates things.”

  “Life is complicated. That’s just the way it is. And I happen to like sex.”

  “Well…I like sex as well. What I remember of it… It’s just that—”

  “You need a man for sex.”

  “Well, there is that…”

  “Look, I think you’re the most wonderful woman I know. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, strong, independent, a great friend…”

  “But?”

  Alice grimaced. “But you possess one major flaw.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’re too independent. You’re so sure you don’t need a man that you’ve organized your whole life around that silly notion.”

  “It’s not silly if it’s true,” Felicity pointed out.

  “Well, yes, but it isn’t, is it? You do need a man, Fee. You need love, and sex, and, and, and…” She waved her arms like a helicopter. “The whole nine yards!”

  “I think you’re wrong. I don’t need a man and I certainly don’t need a relationship to make me whole. I’m doing fine thank you very much.”

  “Well, I think you should open up to the idea that a man might improve your life. Might even make you feel more woman than you already do.”

  “Rubbish. I’m happy. I’m content. Now give me back my bowl.”

  “All done,” Alice said cheerily.

  Felicity shoved the tray into the preheated oven and started whisking the cream. Only now did she realize she’d done this all wrong. Instead of explaining to the viewer what she was doing, she’d been rambling about her sex life of all things! Christ. She would have to start all over again.

  She stared at the cream, then shrugged. She might just as well prepare these cakes now, eat them, and repeat the procedure at a later date.

  “Can you pass me the sugar?” she asked without looking up.

  Instead of Alice’s fine-boned hand, a manly paw entered her field of vision, and she glanced up from her work to look into Rick’s baby blues.

  For a moment she felt trapped in his powerful gaze, having the impression that her spine turned to jelly, and her legs to rubber. With a supreme effort she managed to take control of her failing limbs and cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  There was a note of amusement in his voice that she didn’t like. As if he was making fun of her. It irked her. “Do you think this is funny?”

  He gave a shrug. “I think it’s surprising to see a woman handle a whisk as effortlessly as she handles a gun.”

  “It shouldn’t surprise you.” She kept her gaze fixed on the cream this time. She wasn’t making the mistake of staring into those fascinating eyes a second time. “Women can do anything a man can, and probably ten times as well.”

  She wondered why she’d said that. She should be conciliating this man, not antagonizing him. After all, he was going to teach her how to write an article. But instead of being upset, he merely said, “You’re quite right. I do think women can do a lot more than men. For one thing, though I can handle a gun, I could never bake a cake the way you can. So you already have me at a disadvantage.”

  In spite of herself she had to smile. “I do a lot more than wielding guns and whisks, Mr. Dawson.”

  “I’m sure you do, Miss Bell,” he riposted, and she was surprised by the note of softness in his voice. She looked up and was caught by that fascinating gaze again. At least this time her knees didn’t buckle.

  “Thank you,” she said simply and was annoyed to see a wide smirk on Alice’s face. Getting a grip on herself, she returned her attention to the cake. “We’ll have to do this all over again, won’t we Alice?”

  “I don’t think so hon. I’m sure the cake will be fine.”

  “No, I mean I forgot to give my usual running commentary. The viewers won’t be interested in our meaningless babble. They want to know how to bake a cake.”

  “I think meaningless babble is underrated,” said Rick.

  “I agree. I think we should post the video as is,” Alice said.

  Felicity looked up in alarm. “What? No, of course not. We were just going on and on about…”

  “About a very interesting topic that will interest many of our regular viewers,” Alice completed the sentence.

  “What were you talking about?” Rick asked innocently.

  “Nothing important,” Felicity muttered, sending a death ray stare in her friend’s direction.

  “We were talking about men,” Alice said. “A topic most women find fascinating.”

  “Oh,” said Rick with a confused frown. “So you’re baking a cake, but instead of commenting on…cake, you decided to talk about men instead.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, is there?” Felicity asked defiantly. “After all, we’re two free spirits. We can talk about any topic we choose.”

  “Right. This is our video channel after all,” added Alice.

  “Exactly. If we want to talk about men on our video channel that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

  “Right. Of course,” Rick said, a little uncertainly. It was obvious he didn’t understand what he’d said wrong this time.

  “So we’ll go right ahead and post this video and that will be the end of it,” Alice said, snapping the memory card from the video camera.

  “No!” Felicity cried, quickly rounding the kitchen counter.

  “But I thought you just said we should be allowed to talk about whatever it is we want to talk about,” Alice said innocently. “And you do agree that the topic will interest a great many of our viewers. Who all happen to be women, by the way.”

  “Well, yes…” Felicity threw Alice meaningful glance after meaningful glance but they didn’t seem to affect her in the least. “But some parts of that conversation were private.”

  Alice eyed her for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t think our viewers will mind. After all, that’s exactly the reason they like watching our channel so much. A real live look into the real lives of two re
al girls. That’s what Flour Girl is all about, right?”

  “No, Flour Girl is about baking!”

  “Same difference.”

  Oh, God. Alice was actually going to post their rambling discussion on YouTube, actually exposing her comments on men in general and Rick Dawson in particular to a potential audience of millions! If she had that meat cleaver at hand now, she would have gladly used it!

  “Alice!” she hissed.

  But then she felt Rick’s eyes studying her intently. The man probably thought she was a raving lunatic. First the incident at Rafi’s, then the eggs and the meat cleaver, and now this.

  Alice gave her a sweet smile. “I’ll just take care of this, shall I? No sense in keeping our one hundred subscribers waiting. You have a nice chat about the ins and outs of journalism with Rick now, you hear?” And with those words, she quickly strode off before Felicity could throttle her.

  Felicity stared after her, but then became aware of Rick, and snapped out of it. She would simply have to take down the video later, when Rick had left. For now there was nothing she could do but listen as the star reporter launched into an explanation of the structure of the average newspaper article. So she sank onto one of the kitchen stools, and gave him her full and undivided attention.

  Chapter 10

  “So you want to be a reporter, huh?” Rick eyed the woman now sitting opposite him, trying to gauge her mood. She’d gone from homicidal to homely in the blink of an eye and he wondered what would be next.

  “That’s right,” she said, though she didn’t really sound all that enthusiastic. She hesitated, then added, “The thing is…Stephen—he edits the Happy Bays Gazette—wants me to write a story about what happened at Rafi’s. The holdup? But I have no idea where to begin. The only thing I’ve ever written is my baking column. And my diary entries, though I doubt whether they’re of any use.”

  “You’d be surprised. Diaries are quite the thing. Bridget Jones ring a bell?”

  “Sure. Of course.” She gave him a wan smile. “I hardly think my scribblings are in Miss Jones’s league.”